


Can't Find My Way Home

by Charbonne, ToastyGirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Croatoan/Endverse, Chuck Shurley Tries, Depressed Castiel, Depression, Drug Addict Castiel, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Gen, Hallucination Dean, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Lucifer (Supernatural) Being an Asshole, Lucifer Possessing Sam Winchester, M/M, Past Endverse Castiel/Endverse Dean Winchester - Freeform, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Castiel, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-06-12 16:21:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15343743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charbonne/pseuds/Charbonne, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToastyGirl/pseuds/ToastyGirl
Summary: Dean Winchester is dead. Castiel came across him after the assault in the hopes he could save him, but failed. Instead, he found Lucifer, and the archangel left Castiel with a terrible gift. Now Castiel is stuck waiting for the end of the world, hoping he can find a way to end it all, even if it means ending his existence.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _**Warning:** This fic contains self-harm, suicide, mentions of suicide, alcohol and drug abuse, and depression. Please heed the tags. There will be a warning at the top of each chapter if there is mention of suicide or self-harm, but the rest is going to be rife with it. As it is, the first chapter definitely has mentions of a past suicide attempt, so if you feel uncomfortable with it, you can skip past it as it's only briefly mentioned in one paragraph._  
> 
> Anyway, this idea came to me when I rewatched season 5 episode 4 The End, and follows the very same storyline of that episode. Everything afterward comes from what happened in that episode, which is pretty dark to begin with. Dean is dead, Sam is possessed by Lucifer, and Castiel has the unfortunate luck to survive the attack on Lucifer. Beyond that, this fic is basically an interpretation of what happens after, and how the world ends from the perspective of a now-human angel.

The end of the world should have been violent. Lucifer walked the planet. Natural disasters occurred with alarming frequency. Croatoan was running rampant through the populace. Hell was literally on earth. It should be more violent, not this unsettling silence.

Castiel didn’t know what to expect. He’d always heard about the apocalypse ending in Michael’s victory. That was what every angel had been told since the concept began and Lucifer was locked away. It was supposed to be paradise on Earth, and not… Not this.

He knelt, his hand shakily reaching over to find pulse that no longer was there. Dean’s glassy eyes stared unseeing at the sky, his neck at an odd angle that made Castiel wish he still had his grace so he could heal Dean at a touch. However, his shaking fingers found nothing, and Castiel collapsed to his side, steadying his breathing as a widening stain of blood soaked into his shirt. Cold was seeping into his extremities, but the fallen angel didn’t care.

He’d failed. All of his efforts since he’d possessed Jimmy Novak had failed. The Host had left, Heaven sealed off as the angels fled the planet. The living were mere scattered fragments of what they were, living in isolated pockets that would soon be wiped out. Sam was gone, lost to Lucifer, and Dean…

Castiel gripped Dean’s shirt, hand trembling as his eyes burned. This shouldn’t be happening. He shouldn’t have outlived Dean. He’d known, going into the mission, that he’d never survive it. However, it was giving Dean a chance to put an end to Lucifer. Sure, Dean might not have survived the outcome, but it should have been over.

Gasping, he felt hot tracks running down his face as he bowed his head. He was supposed to protect Dean, Sam, humanity. They were his charge. Humans had always been his charge. That was his Father’s will, to watch and guide humanity. When had the other angels lost sight of that? When did he become the only angel that cared?

He knelt for a long while, his knees aching from the position and some loose rocks, and his shirt steadily growing more red. Not that it mattered to him. Castiel was a soldier. He’d been prepared to die at any moment. The only thing he couldn’t deal with was the human experience.

Footfalls on pavement however caused the fallen angel to turn. Castiel looked back, spying the form of Sam Winchester, now Lucifer, watching the display. His fingers tightened around a fistful Dean’s shirt.

“Oh brother, I am sorry for your loss.”

“No, you’re not.” Castiel licked his lips, watching Lucifer carefully. “You got what you wanted. Go ahead, end it.”

“No.” Lucifer cocked his head to the side, watching Castiel carefully. “I don’t think I will.”

“Why?”

“You’d fallen, and I gave you the choice years ago.” Lucifer walked around to face Castiel’s front. “To come with me. You refused. This is your reward for refusal.”

Castiel huffed out a laugh, wincing as it caused a twinge of fire in his chest. “I’m dying anyway. It’s only a matter of time. You might as well end me now.”

“I think not.” Lucifer stepped forward, his gaze unwavering. “You’re not going to die today, Castiel. You’re not going to die tomorrow. You’re going to survive, and bear witness to the end of these creatures that Father claims are worthy of our love.”

“You can’t do this.”

“And how are you to stop me?” Lucifer gave a small chuckle, shaking his head. “You’re graceless, you can’t harm me. Your last chance failed. Our Father abandoned this planet. There’s nothing you or anyone can do to stop me. And even if there was a chance, you won’t do it. You’re broken, Castiel.”

Castiel felt his chest constrict at those words. He didn’t want to admit it, not really, but there was truth to Lucifer’s words. His fingers gripped at Dean’s shirt, his knuckles whitening until he didn’t think there was any blood left in them. “I don’t believe you.”

“That’s the funny thing about belief.” Lucifer smirked as he looked down at the former angel. “What you choose to believe and what’s the truth can be two completely different things. You chose to believe humanity worth saving.” Hazel eyes, once so compassionate but now so cold, locked onto Castiel. “Tell me Castiel, do the humans know what you are?”

“What are you talking about?”

Lucifer’s smirk grew into a grin. “They don’t, do they? Tell me Castiel, how would the hairless apes react if they found out that you were an angel? That you had fallen. Just. Like. Me. Would they be so welcoming if they knew the truth?”

“Shut up.”

Lucifer pressed on, regardless. “They wouldn’t, would they? They would  drive you out, cast you amongst the rabble. They would let you be torn apart by the very monsters they fight against.”

“Shut up!”

“Or they might not.” Lucifer looked up, thinking before he returned his cold gaze to Castiel. “They might decide to make an example of you. Kill you because they can’t kill me. Or worse-“

_“Shut up!”_

“They might just decide to become very much like my demons and torture you without remorse.” Lucifer chuckled, shaking his head. “After all, it wasn’t that hard to break them in Hell. It doesn’t take much. Just a promise for the pain to end.”

Castiel shook his head in denial. They wouldn’t. Castiel had been around humanity for years. He knew them better than that. Lucifer was trying to fill his head with lies.

“Perhaps that’s what I should do.” Lucifer crouched, bringing himself down to eye level with Castiel. “Offer an end to the apocalypse by telling them about you and informing them about everything you’ve done. Let them know that your torture and death would free them from all of this.”

Shame filled him, burning hot and ruthless, as he knew that Lucifer was right in that regard. He had brought this on humanity. Had he not let Sam out of the panic room, had he told them about Lilith, had he worked harder to prevent the seals from breaking…

Had he never saved the Righteous man…

Did Dean truly hate him in the end?

Lucifer was looking at him again, though his gaze was filled with pity. Castiel didn’t want it. He already felt sick enough, burned with shame and grief. He didn’t need Lucifer’s pity. “No, I believe I will stick with my plan to let you see the end. Watch as humanity finally falls, and let you see them as they truly are.”

Castiel pulled away as Lucifer reached out, feeling a tearing sensation but not caring. What Lucifer was saying, Castiel wanted nothing to do with. He would rather die now than suffer through watching humanity’s final gasp. However, he found himself frozen when Lucifer gestured and when he felt Lucifer’s fingers graze his forehead, he wanted to flinch away. To run. All he got instead was a feeling of frozen grace feather-light against the reservoir of where his own used to reside. The cold feeling spread and Castiel gasped, shivering.

Lucifer straightened then, turning before casting a glance at Castiel. “Farewell Castiel. We won’t see each other again. Enjoy your time on Earth.”

* * *

 

_One Year Later..._

Castiel drummed his fingers on the wheel, watching as the devastated countryside rolled by. He was itching for something, anything that he could take. He couldn’t remember a time when he wasn’t stoned or high on something, and the bottles in his cabin were a testament to what he usually consumed. Not that it mattered.

Chuck had told Castiel that if he continued drinking like he did, he was going to die from alcohol poisoning. Castiel had ended up in a fit of hysterics, laughing so hard tears ran down his face because Chuck couldn’t understand. He couldn’t understand that Castiel had disappeared once to try to overdose, drink himself to death, and had woken up hours later with a raging headache, in a puddle of vomit and blood from his self-inflicted gunshot wound, and still alive.

Lucifer had cursed him, and a year later, Castiel was resigned to watching humanity’s demise. Not that he planned on watching it sober. He’d ended up going out of his way to seek out new ways to keep him under the influence, because at least it kept him from thinking. Kept him from remembering that Dean was gone, that he couldn’t follow him anymore. This was his punishment for rebelling, for not going along with the apocalypse, for trying to defy fate.

He turned into a deserted parking lot, the only evidence of people ever being here a few burned-out husks of cars littering the lot. He’d finally found a bar, and he hoped he could replenish his waning stock of liquor. Not that he had to worry about Croats or demons.

It was eerie how not long after Dean’s death everything seemed to be on pause. Camp Chitaqua believed that somehow the apocalypse had ended, that Lucifer was done. The few refugees that trickled into the camp came with the same news. Nothing was happening. It was almost as if Lucifer had vanished into thin air, and Earth was given a reprieve. People were discussing that maybe the worst was over.

Castiel wasn’t so sure about that. If nothing else, he was certain that his curse was still in effect. Not that he’d tell anyone. He was sure that would go over well in a camp full of hunters. It was bad enough that his status as a fallen angel would have turned the whole of the camp against him, but so far the only person that knew was Chuck. Everyone else was, well, dead. If they found out that Lucifer had done something to him, they’d suspect that the only reason he survived the attack at all was because he got protection in exchange for helping Lucifer.

The whole mess was volatile, which was why Castiel had determined that no one was going to find out anything. He sighed, running a hand through his hair and eyeing the bar carefully. He really needed something to drink. He was starting to reflect, and reflecting was never a good thing. Besides-

“Well, you going in or what?”

That would be the other thing he wanted to avoid. He had apparently sobered up enough to hear _him_ again. “Yes, I’m going in.”

“Well then, go already. You were planning on getting trashed, might as well do it. ‘Bout the only thing you’re good at doing anymore, anyway.”

Castiel whirled around, glaring. Dean Winchester sat leaning against the door to the jeep he’d borrowed for this liquor run, a smirk on his face and his neck looking off from it being snapped. He’d been following him since Dean’s death, and Castiel was certain he was a phantom of his imagination, a hallucination brought about by his best friend’s death. Castiel knew Dean was dead, had accepted it, but apparently his mind loved fucking with him. “Like you’d know what I’m good for.”

Dean smirked, shaking his head. “Of course I would. I’ve been watching you doing this same shit for a long while. Face it, you’re useless.”

“Shut up.” Castiel ground his teeth and got out of the jeep, stalking forward to slam open the door to the bar. It wasn’t like he could escape the phantom. Dean would just follow.

Inside the bar was pretty much a wreck. Tables were overturned and glasses were shattered. However, it seemed that the area behind the bar still had bottles, and Castiel went there first, sidestepping several broken chairs in the process. He then pulled up short, the smell hitting him before anything else.

“Damn.” Dean crouched down, looking the body over that Castiel had discovered. It was badly decomposed, but Castiel could see where the head had been bashed in. “This hasn’t been here long.”

Indeed it hadn’t, and Castiel felt on edge, looking around the bar once again to see if he could see something that he’d missed. The person had likely died a couple of weeks ago, and the former angel wondered if the person responsible was still around. He doubted it, but he could never be too sure. “I didn’t see anyone around.”

“Nah, might be long gone by now.” Dean stood, glancing around at the bottles lining the shelves. “They didn’t come for the booze. It’s all still here.”

Castiel shivered, but shook his head. “Well, I’m going to grab what I came here for. You can go away now.”

Dean snorted. “Couldn’t go away if I tried, remember? I’m a hallucination or some shit. Thought I’d be the one with ‘em.”

Castiel brushed by Dean, not acknowledging that statement. Returning to the jeep, he pulled out a bag he’d intended to stuff with as many bottles as he could. He then made his way back to behind the bar, stepping over the body. He busied himself with opening the bag and started shoving bottles in, ignoring how Dean was now examining the body again.

“You must really be used to all of this now, huh?” Castiel glanced over, a frown on his face as Dean examined him. “Before, you used to try and do something.”

“And what would I do?” Castiel grimaced as he examined a bottle that was mostly empty. Maybe he could mix it in with another to save space. It wasn’t like he wouldn’t drink it regardless. “It’s not like I can bury every human out there.”

“Didn’t stop you before.”

“Please spare me the morality lesson. Righteous Man or no, you are hardly the person to give me one.” Castiel finished loading the bag and hefted it onto one shoulder. He’d have to come back with a larger bag or even a crate for what was left, but he was content that he had enough for a few days. “Now, can we go, or is there something else you’d like to tell be about how I’ve failed?”

Dean snorted. “Whatever man. You’re the only one beating yourself up.”

Castiel pressed his lips together, but refused to say anything more. He made his way out of the bar, and when he pulled the back door open, he spotted Dean in the shotgun seat. Shoving the bag into the back seat, he rolled his eyes at Dean and went around to slip into the driver’s side.

* * *

The minute he was back on the road, Dean seemed to disappear again. Castiel was grateful for that. It seemed like the phantom only wanted to belittle him for his choices in life, and no matter how much he initially begged for Dean to leave him in peace, it never seemed to help. The only times he could find respite from it was in the bottles or the pills, when he was too stoned, high, or drunk to care about what Dean said. The minute he even started getting sober, Dean would be back, reminding him of all his failings. Castiel didn’t need reminders. He hated himself enough as it was.

Castiel listened to the quiet, grimacing as he realized he was starting to think again and reaching into the glove compartment to grab out a tape. It was one of Dean’s old mix tapes, and while the hunter had eliminated a lot of things from his old life before his passing, the tapes had remained. He popped it into the tape deck and cranked up the volume, letting Led Zepplin fill the jeep.

Reaching back, he opened the bag to pull out a bottle of whiskey, keeping an eye on the road. He needed it. He always hated it when the phantom got under his skin, and thankfully this time it had been brief. The last time it had happened, Dean had been around for three days, deriding him for his cowardice and criticizing his lifestyle. He grinned as he felt his fingers wrap around the neck of one bottle, pulling forward the supposed liquid courage, though he could never figure out what was so courageous about fermented grains.

“Dude, pull over.”

Castiel blinked, looking toward the front and annoyed that Dean had returned. However, his annoyance didn’t stay, as he spotted the overturned vehicle. Cold dread seemed to settle in his gut as he realized it was surrounded by Croats. He glanced toward Dean, whose eyes hadn’t left the scene before them, and briefly wondered when his hallucinations were supposed to view the world outside of his perception. His hand fell away from the bottle, however, and instead landed on the wheel, pulling over as he realized that he’d likely have to fight. Again.

Reaching into the footwell, he pulled up the AK he’d set there against the possibility he’d need it. None of the Croats seemed to notice the new vehicle, or if they had, they didn’t seem to care. He didn’t hesitate, millennia serving as one of God’s soldiers taking over and letting his nerves turn to steel as he counted the number of Croats. Seven in total, and Castiel had never seen them when he drove past before. Wrenching the door open, he quickly dropped to one knee, fit the butt of the rifle against his shoulder, and started squeezing off shots.

The first Croat dropped like a stone, causing the rest to jerk around as they realized they were under attack. Two more went down before they started toward Castiel, and suddenly the former angel wondered if this was just a small sample of a greater threat. However, he let that thought go as he continued firing off shots, scoring a hit on one’s shoulder before taking another full in the chest. He didn’t get a chance to do anything else as the other Croats were on him.

He smacked one with the butt of his rifle, stunning it before he dropped it in favor of grabbing for his knife. The Croat staggered backward before it lurched forward, joining the two others who were grappling for the former angel. Castiel felt his back meet the jeep hard, grimacing through the jolt of pain before he managed to get the knife between him and one of his attackers. That one dropped and gave Castiel a chance to shove one of them back.

Suddenly two shots rang out and the two remaining Croats dropped, causing Castiel to look around wildly. That’s when he spotted a girl with blonde hair next to the overturned car, holding a handgun aimed right at him. “Did they bleed on you?”

Castiel blinked and shook his head. “No, I am uninjured.”

The girl paused, her gaze sharpening before she moved forward to close the distance. She seemed to study him for a moment, although Castiel couldn’t exactly say why. Her eyes looked familiar though. Dean of course chose this time to chuckle. “Oh, this is rich.”

Castiel shot Dean a look as the girl looked him over. “Dad?”

His head snapped around to look at her carefully, taking in her facial features now, and not just her eyes. They were older, but they were most assuredly that of Claire Novak, his vessel’s daughter. His mouth fell open as he looked her over again, and guilt bubbled up in his gut. Another time he’d failed, he thought. “I am sorry, but I am still not your father.”

That caused Claire’s eyes to narrow. “Oh, it’s you.” Her hands had lowered a bit but now they returned as she aimed straight at his head. “Lemme guess, my dad’s still trapped in there.”

“He’s gone.” Castiel swallowed, guilt like acid eating away at him. “He passed away in 2009. Raphael, the archangel, obliterated me at the molecular level. I was returned to life, but your father was not restored. He is in Heaven now.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Claire’s expression darkened. “My dad dies, and you get to remain? What the hell?”

What the hell indeed, Castiel mused. Not like he was going to die anytime soon, even if he desperately wished to. “I do admit this is completely unfair-“

“Unfair?” Claire laughed. “Unfair is being told you can’t stay up late. You, you went completely past unfair. You ruined my life!”

“I am sorry.” His apology felt completely inadequate, and he suddenly realized that she couldn’t have been alone. Right? “Is there anyone with you? How did you get here?”

“Oh, now you care?” Claire snorted. “Why? It’s not like it matters to you. You’re not even human.”

That caused Castiel to flinch. Dean leaned out of the door, resting his arms on his knees as he watched the interaction. “Oh, ouch. You know, I kinda like her.”

“Shut up,” Castiel muttered, throwing a dirty look Dean’s way. He was much too sober, and wondered how long before Claire shot him and left him to drink his miseries away.

Claire frowned though, looking between Castiel and where he’d been looking. “Who are you talking to?”

“No one.” Castiel heaved a sigh. “Look, if you’re going to shoot me, just do it already. It’s not going to make a difference, and maybe I’ll get lucky and die finally.”

Claire stared, gaping. “Wait, you _want_ to die?”

Castiel ignored her, and instead took hold of her hand and guided her pistol to his forehead. “Right here. If you shoot me in the head, there’s a chance I might not be able to recover from it. Then again, this is an untested theory since I’ve only shot myself and no one else has.”

“You’re crazy.” Claire pulled the gun down, staring agape at him. “You can’t seriously think that I’d believe that. You’re an angel!”

“Fallen angel.” Castiel rolled his eyes. “I’ve been cut off from the Host. I’m now just as mortal as you are.” Or at least as mortal as Lucifer made him.

“Are you drunk or something?”

“No.” Castiel leaned back, since apparently Claire wasn’t planning on shooting him anytime soon. “Though I am going to remedy that as soon as I get back to camp.”

Claire stared for a moment longer before she seemed to make up her mind. Grabbing up his rifle, she stalked over to the overturned car and used it to bust out a few windows. She crawled inside, and Castiel was curious as to what she was looking for before she pulled out a bag. Tossing it at him, she climbed up into the passenger seat, causing Dean to swear and reappear in the back seat.

Castiel stood there blinking for a moment, confused. “What are you doing?”

“You have a camp. I’ve been alone and trying to find a safe place for months now. You do the math.” Claire crossed her arms, staring Castiel down.

“I thought you wanted to kill me.”

“Changed my mind. People are allowed to do that, you know.” Claire continued staring at him defiantly. “So, are you going to get in or not?”

Castiel hesitated a moment before he pulled his knife out of the dead Croat, somewhat surprised that he’d forgotten all about it. Wiping it hastily on its clothing, he slipped it back at the small of his back before climbing in himself. Glancing at Claire and then Dean, who was sitting in the back seat smirking, he shook his head and started the engine back up. “All right then. Camp Chitaqua, here we come.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so late. I've been busy with real life lately, and this got put on the wayside a bit. Hopefully this chapter makes up for the wait!

Castiel remembered once, long ago, that Lucifer had come to him with an offer. Sam had just said yes, and Lucifer had come to him with an entreaty. Side with him, against Michael, to avenge their Fall together. Lucifer stated it was their right, they were the injured parties. Lucifer had loved their Father too much, and Castiel had loved the humans too much. He even proposed saving some humans from destruction and letting Castiel live with them, his own personal flock, ‘as Father had intended’.

Castiel had felt horrified, realizing for the first time that the apocalypse was happening and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Neither he nor Dean had known Sam’s decision, and even then, he thought about Dean, how he was calling his brother to try and see if he was okay. The proof was in the ringing phone that Lucifer was ignoring in his pocket. Dean would be horrified, that much Castiel had known, and his heart ached for the older Winchester.

He remembered demanding Lucifer leave Sam’s body.

He remembered Lucifer laughing in his face as he refused.

He remembered the brief instance of fear as Lucifer drew his blade to attack.

He remembered the ripping pain in his wings as he was forced to flee, the final moments of his Fall complete as they gave one last effort to fly Castiel away from the Devil.

He’d never told Dean about the deal, or why he’d appeared so suddenly in Bobby’s house, his wings broken and all but useless, massive lumps of feathers and flesh and bone that no longer had the strength to carry their owner. Dean had been shocked at the time when Castiel found himself wracked with a fever and chills, his grace fizzling out into nothingness. Neither he nor Bobby realized what had happened, though the older hunter had approached later that night, a grimace on his face as he handed the fallen angel a couple of pills and a glass of water and a promise to listen if Castiel felt like talking.

Castiel never took Bobby up on that offer…

Sunlight streamed into his cabin, weak and faded, illuminating the room enough that Castiel moved to cover his head with his pillow, cursing in Enochian and wishing that his heartbeat would stop reverberating through his skull. It was bad enough that even his skin felt like it had needles being driven through it, and he tried to return to sleep, thinking if he were less conscious, the pounding wouldn’t be so bad.

The bucket of water thrown on him however dissuaded Castiel from that notion, and Castiel sat up abruptly, sputtering and groaning, his stomach trying to crawl back up his esophagus at the sudden movement. His brain felt like hot pokers had been driven into it, and he glared at the perpetrator responsible.

Claire Novak looked unrepentant as she set the bucket next to his bed, crossing her arms and glaring at him. “You’ve been asleep since yesterday afternoon. Wake up.”

Castiel groaned, feeling pain spike as he reached for anther bottle. His hands met air, however, and he finally looked around his room. It looked like it had been tidied up and all the bottles missing. Nothing remained of his two-day binge, and he gaped at Claire when his eyes landed on her. “What happened to my room?”

“I cleaned it,” Claire stated simply, going over to a covered window and removing the blanket that covered it. More sunlight entered the room, causing Castiel to cover his eyes with his arms. “Besides, the whole place stank and needed it.”

“And what? You’re going to tell me what to do?”

Suddenly his arm was yanked away from his face and he was looking at an incensed teenager. “Damn right I will! The hell, Castiel? You’d rather climb into a bottle than face the world?”

“I refuse to have this conversation sober.” Castiel stumbled to his feet, blindly making his way to his drawers. However, when he opened the top one, he stared in astonishment as every pill bottle within had vanished. He turned, fixing a gaze at Claire that would have smote her had he still had his grace. “Where is everything?”

“I’m not telling.” Claire raised her chin defiantly. “You don’t need any of that crap anyway.”

“I don’t need anyone taking care of me,” Castiel ground out, jaw clenched as he started picking through his clothes to get dressed. He needed to make another run to that bar, because he was almost certain that he could hear Dean chuckling.

“Yeah right.” Claire snorted. “You don’t need anyone taking care of you? Do you even know how to be human? ‘Cause right now, you’re doing a piss poor job of it.”

Castiel shut his drawer with more force than necessary, turning to look at his vessel’s daughter. “I’ve had years to get used to being human and learn. You will have to forgive me if my definition and yours do not coincide.”

“Oh yeah, ‘cause drinking and doing drugs is doing you a world of favors. You think I _like_ seeing my dad like this?” Claire gestured, her gaze heated. “All I’ve heard about around camp is that you drink too much, you pop pills, and you’ve slept with everyone around camp! Tell me Castiel, how can you live like this?”

Castiel ignored her again. All he was hearing was how much he failed, and he grit his teeth as he realized that she wasn’t leaving. He slipped his dirtied shirt off before reaching for the clean one to slip on. A noise caused him to glance up and he suddenly realized that Claire had turned around, arms crossed and tapping her foot. “What now?”

“You had to start changing in front of me?”

Castiel paused, both arms in his shirt yet hesitating to pull it over his head. “You are in my room.”

“Yeah, and you’re in my dad’s body.” Claire glanced over her shoulder before looking back toward the wall. “I don’t want to see him _naked.”_

This had to be a human thing, he reasoned. He remembered that Dean had to tell him to change in private years ago, which he was doing now. However, her words caused him to shove the shirt over his head. “Well, if you do not wish me to remove my clothing in front of you, perhaps it’d be better if you waited outside.”

Claire didn’t even hesitate, walking out quickly and Castiel sighed in relief. He finished dressing before stopping in the bathroom to look at himself in the mirror. He knew realistically that it was Jimmy’s face looking back at him, but he hadn’t thought about his vessel in so long, it seemed like a lifetime ago. The face looking back at him reflected the feeling, sunken eyes, sallow skin, and a thick beard which Castiel had stopped shaving long ago. He felt along his jaw with a grimace. He would shave it off if it made any damn difference in the world to anyone, but he didn’t. It wasn’t worth the effort.

Shrugging and figuring it was as good as he was going to get, Castiel left the cabin and looked around for Claire. She wasn’t anywhere he could tell so he started toward the motor pool, intent on checking out a vehicle to go on another run. If nothing else, he needed to replenish the alcohol Claire had confiscated.

“Ugh, you’re killing me Cas.” Castiel groaned, looking over and spotting Dean leaning against one of the other cabins. “You’re really gonna crush that girl by being a boozehound.”

“Much too sober for this…” Castiel muttered, rubbing his face. He turned away from the specter, continuing on his way. “Besides, I fail to see how what I do affects you in any form.”

Reaching the motor pool, he looked around to see if he could spot whoever was in charge when he spotted Chuck making his way over. The prophet had ended up being the working leader of the camp, even if supposedly Castiel was in charge. The former angel was admittedly much too useless in that department. As there seemed to be no need to strategize, Castiel had deferred to Chuck.

“So, the girl you brought back with you seems to be working a lot.” Chuck glanced up from the clipboard he was writing on and considered Castiel for a moment. “She also seemed to be asking a lot about you a lot, too.”

“I do not see why.” Castiel glanced toward the rest of the camp, but it seemed like Claire was nowhere in sight. “I have no relation to her save for the fact I am possessing her father.”

“Cas,” Chuck started, then stopped and sighed as Castiel looked sharply at him. “Look, she’s worried about you. Heck, I’m worried about you. Going out on your own all the time? It’s dangerous.”

“Nothing untoward will happen to me.”

“But you’re human now.” Chuck flinched at his own words when Castiel shot him a look, but pressed on. “I mean, look, you can get hurt and even die while out on your own. You have to stop this. It’s… it’s not bringing Dean back.”

Castiel frowned. “I know that. We salted and burned his body. He cannot return from the beyond either as a ghost or a demon using his form.”

“That’s not what I meant…” Chuck pinched the bridge of his nose, clutching the clipboard to his chest. “What I mean is that he’s dead, and there’s no coming back from that.”

Castiel’s posture stiffened. “I do not understand how my behavior could be construed as an attempt to bring him back.”

If anything, Chuck looked more frustrated and he cast his gaze around the camp. “Look, just… Just don’t go out. It’s not helping anyone.”

“I bring back supplies along with whatever I seek out there.” Castiel was even more confused now. “How is that not helping anyone?”

Chuck sighed, shaking his head. “It’s not helping you.” Chuck pressed his lips together, looking around the camp. “Look, have Rufus go with you if you have to go out, just no more flying solo.”

“I have not flown in years.” Castiel blinked, wondering if Chuck expected his angelic abilities to suddenly come back.

“I’ll… I’ll just go get Rufus.” With that, Chuck turned around, leaving Castiel standing beside the motor pool.

Castiel crossed his arms, leaning against one of the parked trucks. He knew that Chuck had been trying for months to try and clean up the camp, but it just… His attempts were getting nowhere. Castiel himself felt no urge to change his behaviors, and now it seemed that there would be two people intent on forcing a change. Though, why Chuck was intent on having him go out with Rufus was beyond him.

* * *

As it turned out, Rufus apparently had just as much desire to get out of the camp as Castiel did, though Rufus’s seemed to be much more practical. The old hunter snorted at Castiel’s appearance and refused point blank to let the former angel drive, instead stating they had errands to run before they got Castiel’s newest hangover. Rufus Turner was definitely not one of those that liked waste.

He’d appeared a little over seven months ago, trying to see if he could connect with Bobby. Rufus hadn’t initially believed that Bobby was even dead, stating that ‘the old bastard’ was much too stubborn to die, much like him. However, a trip back to Bobby’s to show the old hunter Bobby’s final end disabused Rufus of that notion, and the hunter had wasted no time in digging through what he could of Bobby’s books, taking what he could find to retain something of Bobby’s lore collection. He’d ended up with half a dozen books that he’d taken to one of the cabins that was along the edge of the camp and holed himself up in there, coming out to help deal with supply runs.

Rufus and Castiel interacted little, mostly because Rufus was practically a recluse and Castiel, in between his drinking, runs for supplies (alcohol), and practically everything else that Dean used to be shocked that an angel of the Lord would do, was practically reclusive as well. As far as the both of them figured when they did interact, they were just waiting for the end. Though they did trade tales on occasion, especially regarding one Bobby Singer, they never really did much else together.

“So here I am, holding onto this branch because we’re both trying to climb the tree, and Bobby loses his grip. Shoulda seen the look on his face. He practically shit himself, he was so scared.” Rufus snorted, shaking his head in the middle of his narrative. “And the wendigo is practically on top of him in seconds. The damned fool made for a bush, while I’m trying to figure out what to do to save his ass, and you know what he does?”

Castiel looked over, tilting his head to the side curiously. “I’m unsure. I imagine he probably tried to kill it.”

“Well, yeah, he tried to kill it. Mostly by setting the bush he was hiding in on fire when it got close enough.” Rufus quirked his lips in amusement. “Damn thing went up like a roman candle. After that, he just looks at me and shrugs. ‘Well, I got it.’” Rufus snorted. “Damn right he got it, and almost got himself roasted for the trouble.”

“Well, you can’t expect that he would be calm and collected.” Castiel shrugged. “As you said, it was his third hunt.”

Rufus shook his head. “Damn old fool. You know he still owes me a bottle of Jimmy Walker? I bet he drank it when everything went to hell.”

Castiel cast his mind back, trying to recall if he saw anything like that in Bobby’s liquor stores, but honestly couldn’t remember. Either Bobby had drunk it, or Dean and Castiel had when they both ended up wasted after Dean found out about Sam. Either way, it was long gone, and he shrugged again, unsure what to say because he didn’t think Rufus wanted an explanation.

The two were silent for a bit, the only sound Castiel could hear being Dean singing in the back seat. The road seemed to stretch on, and Castiel watched as the trees went by. He found himself jiggling one of his legs up and down, antsy and wishing he had something to drink to take the edge off of sobriety. He appreciated Rufus’s stories, however, since both of them knew Bobby for years and, at least in Rufus’s case, were still coping with the loss.

“You know, there’s better ways to deal with things besides getting drunk.”

Castiel looked over at the older hunter, a frown marring his features as he blinked at Rufus. “I do have other hobbies.”

“Which is another thing.” Rufus gave Castiel a long look before returning his attention to the road. “Did you really go around sleeping with every woman in sight? That’s just asking for trouble.”

“I used protection.” He recalled when he initially had sex, Dean had admonished him and thrown a packet of condoms at him, a scowl on his face. Castiel wasn’t sure why, since Dean had performed some of the same acts with him, although he supposed it could be jealousy. He shifted, aware that Rufus was watching him carefully. “What?”

“I just don’t know how an angel can do all of that stuff.” Rufus gave him a meaningful look before turning his attention back to the road. “Aren’t you supposed to be, I dunno, above all that?”

“I assure you, angels are not ‘above all that’,” Castiel stated, using his fingers for quotes. “And how did you find out I was an angel?”

“Bobby.” Rufus glanced over. “He called me up soon after the mess started with the seals so I could keep my eyes open, and then later when it turned out your family was, and I quote, ‘a bunch of dicks’.  How is it you’re the only one that gave a damn, anyway?”

Castiel bit his lip, well aware that Dean had stopped singing and seemed to be listening to his answer. “It doesn’t matter now. I’m just as human as everyone else.”

“Well, in any case, I been watching you, and honestly? Something’s seriously wrong beyond the whole end of the world deal.” Rufus shook his head, tapping the steering wheel as he drove. “And no offense, but I’d figure that whatever it is, that’s why you’re hiding.”

“I’m not hiding.” Castiel glared at the scene outside of the vehicle, his expression mimicking when he was once divine. “Also I hardly see how you can be so concerned about my well-being.”

“I’m not.” Castiel glanced back toward Rufus, his brow pinching as he studied him. Rufus’s lips twisted into a scowl. “If you wanna call it anything, it’s the fact that I know a certain man who would be smacking you upside your head and calling you an idjit right about now just because he’d have every right to. I don’t know much about you, and frankly from what I’ve seen, I think you’re being a dumbass. You need to get your shit together.”

Castiel huffed. “I do not see why everyone feels the need to tell me that.”

“Well if you listened, I bet a lot of people wouldn’t tell you that.” Rufus shook his head. “What am I doing, seriously? You’re supposed to be the one giving me lectures about how to live, not the other way around.”

“I am not about to lecture someone on how to live. That would be hypocritical of me.” Castiel took a moment to glance back toward Dean through the rearview mirror, noting he was still silent and watching him. “I just believe that the last six years have been difficult for everyone involved.”

“Difficult, he says.” Rufus snorted, glancing up himself through the rearview mirror with a raised eyebrow. “You wanna clue me in on what you’re looking for back there?”

Castiel shook his head, realizing that Dean was now glaring at him. “It’s nothing.”

* * *

The supply run took Rufus and Castiel to a Walmart, one that was a few towns over and hopefully not picked clean. Chuck had insisted on looking into seeds and gardening tools, perhaps hoping that maybe with the lack of activity from demons and Croats, they could finally start growing their own food. Castiel was more pessimistic on the whole issue, as he doubted that Lucifer was done, but he couldn’t exactly disagree with the fact they needed a supply of food. It was becoming harder and harder to find nonperishables as they went through all the locations they could to scavenge.

Together they both scouted around, seeing if they could catch sight of anything. When nothing showed itself, Castiel and Rufus separated, Rufus to see if he could hunt down what they’d need to grow things, and Castiel to get provisions. Castiel wandered down aisles, wondering vaguely why humans needed so much. He could understand the concept of having everything available in one place. Being human had taught him the concept of convenience. He just couldn’t understand the excess.

He crinkled his nose at parts of the food aisles. Food long gone bad populated most of the cooler areas, and he skirted past them to get to the canned and dry foods. Realistically he knew that most of the other people in camp could identify what was and wasn’t good to eat, but he was going by something Dean had told him once. If the cans bulged, he should avoid them. If there was anything green growing on something, avoid that too.

Sighing, he knelt next to rows of canned vegetables and opened the duffel he carried to start shoving things inside. The shelves had been picked over before, but what was left Castiel made sure to stow away. He then turned to another section of shelves and went through that too. It was depressing, really, how quickly he could clear what he could off the shelves. The discards of past scavengers likely long dead.

He grimaced as he moved down but froze as a scuffing met his ears. Frowning, he reached back and gripped his knife. He very much doubted it was Rufus, as the old hunter was in another section of the store. Keeping low, he made his way down the aisle and peered around the shelves. For a moment, he had to stop and shake his head. There were times he appreciated what little angelic abilities he still possessed, such as being able to discern the true faces of individuals. It had been what helped him to identify who past Dean was, but other times it caused him a headache when someone’s true form was overriding what their physical appearance was.

Currently, his senses were telling him that a petite brunette was prowling around the shelves, but his true sight was telling him she was something more sinister. Her back was to him, but he could see a form of corruption in her frame that belied her demonic nature. Shifting, he wished that he had his angel blade instead of just his knife. That was stored in the drawers back at camp, and he hadn’t thought to bring it with him.

Another scuffling sound behind him made him turn abruptly, and the slight outline of what he could only assume was a hellhound was mere feet away, glowing eyes watching him and a low growl coming from its throat. He drew the knife quickly, cursing his lack of foresight and shifting so he could make a dash toward the exit. However, a hot blast against the back of his neck caused Castiel to freeze in place.

“Down boys.” The voice right next to him caused Castiel to startle, and his eyes jerked to the side briefly to notice the dark-haired woman standing right beside him. She knelt down next to him, examining him carefully. “Well well well, what do we have here? A little lost halo? I haven’t seen one of you since Heaven closed up shop.”

“I have nothing to say to you.” Castiel’s mouth was pressed into a fine line.

“I think you do, Clarence.” The demon got a wry look on her face. “After all, you’re here, all alone, and you don’t seem to be pulling the disappearing act anytime soon. What happened? Wings got clipped or something?”

Castiel narrowed his eyes, but refused to speak. The demon smiled and clasped her hands together as she sat on her heels. “I think I know exactly what tree topper you are. Been keeping my eyes on you. Gotta say, I didn’t think an angel would be so hedonistic.”

“What do you want?”

“Oh, to the point? I like that.” She smirked, her eyes flashing. “My father’s put me on duty to find a particular soul. One you’re all too familiar with. Including the biblical sense.” She rose an eyebrow. “Didn’t think that a halo would be interested in humans like that.” Castiel didn’t respond, and the demon shrugged. “Not that it’s any of my business who you screw.  I just want to know where this one little soul is hiding. That’s all.”

“Bite me.”

“I wouldn’t say that with my friends here.” Her smirk grew, and she looked at each of the hellhounds flanking Castiel. “They could take that literally.” She then clapped her hands together, straightening a bit. “Tell you what Clarence. You let me know where I can find this soul, and I’ll pretend that I didn’t see you. Everyone goes home happy.”

Castiel lifted his chin haughtily. “And how would I know what soul you want? Implying I know them biblically doesn’t give me much to go on, even if I were inclined to tell you anything.”

“Oh trust me, you know this soul really well.” She waggled her eyebrows. “Used to follow him everywhere. Could even say you saved it.”

Castiel suddenly realized who she was talking about, but refused to acknowledge it. “Even if it were true that I knew who you speak of, that doesn’t mean anything. His soul could be anywhere at this point. Why ask me?”

“Well, I could ask you in other ways, but I decided to play nice first. Be a good boy now.”

“No.” Castiel had been through enough that whatever other methods of persuasion the demon possessed, he wouldn’t fall for them. “Might as well kill me and get it over with.”

“But that wouldn’t be as fun Clarence.” The demon actually pouted. “You have to give me something.”

“That’s not happening.” He straightened up, staring her in the eyes. “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus…”

The slap was not unexpected. His head jerked to the side and he could taste blood in his mouth as the demon snorted. “Really? An exorcism? Lemme guess, don’t have the mojo to get it up?”

Castiel continued chanting, up until he felt fingers wrap around his throat. His voice died out with a choke as the demon lifted him off the ground. Grabbing her wrist with one hand, he drew both legs up and kicked out. The demon’s grip tightened and Castiel felt his lungs begin to burn from lack of oxygen.

“I thought it was a good try.” Both the demon and Castiel glanced to the side, the demon in shock and Castiel in surprise as Dean reappeared. “Too bad you had to interrupt it.”

The demon dropped Castiel, and the former angel took in a large lungful of air as she rounded to face Dean properly. Castiel’s brain wasn’t fully registering, however, as he stared at his hallucination. “Dean?”

“Well, look what finally decided to show. I thought I’d have to hunt you down and instead you showed up.” The demon smirked. “Decided to make an appearance when your boyfriend was in trouble?”

“What about you Meg? Still Lucifer’s bitch?” Dean smirked himself, though he kept a considerable distance between him and the demon. “I thought we got rid of you back in Carthage.”

Castiel’s gaze flitted from one to the other, trying to comprehend exactly what he was seeing. Dean couldn’t be real. Dean was dead. They salted and burned his bones. He stood shakily, rubbing his throat.

“Well, you know what they say. Can’t keep a bad girl down and all.” The demon, Meg, stepped forward. Dean took a step back. It was a weird dance between the two, one that Castiel was watching with bated breath.

Dean smirked, his eyes glancing to Castiel’s left before fixing on Meg again. “You know, I never pegged you to be an errand girl. I thought you’d be the type that would be leading. Guess I was wrong there.”

“You’re wrong about a lot of things, Deano. I just never thought you’d be the type that would run and hide.” Meg stepped forward again, and Dean stepped back. “Are you going to run and hide again, or are you going to come quietly? My father’s really anxious to reunite you with your brother.”

Dean glanced back to Castiel again, and then shifted his gaze to his left. Castiel frowned, trying to understand, up until he realized he was still next to the shelves. His eyes quickly spied what Dean had been glancing at. _Salt…_

Dean was still smirking, watching the demon. “Yeah well, I think you can tell your _father_ exactly what I told him before. Fuck off and die. He’s the biggest dick angel I’ve ever met, and considering which of them I’ve seen, that’s saying something.” Dean’s smirk spread into a satisfied smile as Castiel felt his hands slowly reach and wrap around one of the containers. “Then again, I think I can figure something better to send as a message.”

Suddenly Dean’s gaze dropped to Castiel’s knife, discarded and forgotten when Meg had started choking him. The knife sprung to life, flying straight toward the hellhound behind Castiel. Castiel didn’t hesitate, yanking the container around and ripping it open enough to try and throw a line between the demon and hellhound before him as the hound behind him yelped in pain.

Then Castiel was up and running, his duffel discarded behind him and trying to outrun the creatures behind him. He didn’t want to think on what he’d just seen, since it seemed an impossibility. His shoes skidded as he turned to run down another aisle, breath coming in labored gasps as he tried to figure out where Rufus had disappeared to. If he could get to him…

The baying of hounds was behind him, and Castiel pushed himself faster. Reaching the end of the aisle, he didn’t pause as he took a direction and prayed it was the right one. Clothing racks passed him by and he tried to figure out if he could determine where he was. The portion that held gardening supplies was at the other end, right?

Suddenly his luck ran out as Meg appeared before him again, looking pissed. She held out a hand and tossed him against some shelves, knocking the air out of his lungs. Grimacing, he tried moving only to find that he was completely immobile. He strained his body, trying to detach from the shelves as he wished he had even a fraction of his grace to smite the demon before him.

“Oh Clarence,” Meg shook her head as she spoke, “you really shouldn’t have run on me. Now I get to take you apart until Dean shows his face again. Pity really. I wanted to see if you were as good as your reputation said.”

The boom that reverberated through the store was Meg’s only answer as she was blown back, Castiel dropping from her grasp. The rack of a shotgun informed Castiel of how Meg was blown off her feet, but he scrambled to his feet. Rufus stalked forward, holding a shotgun tight to his body as he fired again, and the yelp of a hellhound was the only thing that told Castiel that Rufus was aiming at something beyond his field of vision. Racking the shotgun again, he glanced at Castiel again and jerked his head.

“If I had known you were as much trouble as Bobby, I woulda stayed home.” The older man snorted and shook his head and Castiel took that moment to scramble back.

“Trust me, it was not my intention to be cornered by a demon,” Castiel snarked back. Again he wished he had the grace to draw his angel blade, but knew it was a futile one. “We need to go.”

“Yeah, we do.” Already they both could see Meg regaining her feet, a look of rage crossing her features as she staggered a bit.

Rufus fired again before they took off, racing toward the exit. Castiel cursed again the fact he didn’t bring more than his knife into the store, but he managed to keep up with Rufus easily enough. Stumbling through the doors, they made for the truck and climbed in. Rufus turned on the ignition and stepped on the gas, tires shrieking on pavement as he raced out of the parking lot.

Castiel picked up the shotgun and held it. Keeping an eye on the road behind them for any sight of pursuit, it took ten minutes before either one of them breathed a bit easier. Sighing, Castiel thumped his head backward and shook his head. He was never going back to that store if he could help it.

* * *

It was a good while before either of them spoke, Castiel not wanting to mention anything about what happened while Rufus was more intent on making sure that they could get away without being seen. However, Castiel was concerned with the idea that Meg had seemed to know what he was up to since it insinuated that she had been able to get into the camp. Watching him. He shivered, unconsciously rubbing his hip where his anti-possession tattoo marked his skin. He knew that he was unable to be possessed, same with practically every hunter in the camp. That didn’t mean that everyone was protected though, especially since Dean was no longer around to insist on anti-possession tattoos for everyone coming into camp.

It was a good twenty minutes before Rufus decided to look back toward Castiel, a frown on his face as his dark eyes studied the fallen angel. “So what the hell was that all about?”

“That demon, she was looking for something.” Castiel grimaced, thinking he would have to raid the supply stores to get something to numb the growing feeling in his gut. “She seemed to believe I was the one that could lead her to it.”

“And did she find it?” Castiel glanced over to Rufus, whose eyes were fixed on the road again.

Castiel shook his head. “No.” He didn’t elaborate further, and Rufus seemed to let the topic drop. Besides, what was Castiel supposed to say?

The fact that Meg had cornered him, had been searching for him specifically was only one problem. The other major issue was that she’d seen _Dean,_ his hallucination. There was nothing holding Dean to the world anymore. He should have been accepted into Heaven, as all angelic vessels invariably were, and he doubted that his friend would have refused a reaper, not unless he was bound and determined to punish himself for failing to kill Lucifer.

Which, to be fair, was entirely something that could have happened. However, Castiel doubted that. How was it that he had been alone in seeing his ghost after so long? He’d witnessed his hallucination often enough around other people that other people should have been able to see if Dean manifested.

He rubbed his temples, thinking that he didn’t have enough information. In all of his time as an angel, he’d never heard of such a thing. Once, he would have been able to ask his angelic brethren about it, but that time had long passed. His chest ached as he thought about it. He was alone, and there was nothing he could think of to help figure any of it out.

Rufus must have noticed his discomfort as the hunter frowned again and studied him. “You all right? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Castiel huffed in amusement. “I’ll be fine. It was just a demon likely trying to save herself from Lucifer. I doubt they would survive this. After all, to him, they’re pawns he can manipulate and destroy.”

Rufus scowled at Castiel’s explanation but said nothing more. For that, Castiel was extremely grateful.


End file.
